


Follow The Marks You Left

by fullthrottle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Eleanor and Louis go on two dates, Harry Styles/Nick Grimshaw (mentioned) - Freeform, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, They're just friends, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne (background) - Freeform, that's about the extent of her presence in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4997149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullthrottle/pseuds/fullthrottle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate AU where Louis is trying to get over Harry by finally cracking down on his search for his soulmate. It's easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow The Marks You Left

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this fic isn't betaed so any and all mistakes are my own. sorry about that!
> 
> this is pretty self-indulgent and doesn't involve a lot of character development or any particularly significant themes. if you don't expect too much from it, you might even like it lol
> 
> for some background info that might not be clear in this work: people in this universe get their soul marks when they're ready to be with their soulmates. soul marks don't always seem to match perfectly to an outsider and a lot of the times reflect some important aspect of a couple's relationship. most soulmates are paired together by around age 22 or so, but there are always exceptions, etc.
> 
> harry and louis are in their third year of university and have been flatmates for around a year and a half during the events of this work
> 
> title from years and years' song called "without"
> 
> thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!

Louis’ soul mark comes in when he is 16 years old, and it’s a string of words, on the inside of his wrist— _oh, um, yeah, that does make sense_. He reckons there can only be one other person in the world with a soul mark as weird as his. He can’t wait to meet them. Louis’ mark appears fairly early compared to when most people get theirs; it probably has something to do with the fact that Louis a hopeless romantic. He saw his mother fall in and out of love with three different men until the age of 13, when his mother met her soulmate. Everything changed for Louis then, and he’s wanted to meet his own soulmate desperately ever since then.

Harry, at age 20, still does not have a soul mark, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he’s glad he doesn’t have a soul mark because he doesn’t really care for the whole idea of soulmates anyway. Harry’s still a romantic, just in a different way. His own parents are not soulmates, and they’re perfectly happy together. Harry has tons of friends and family members that are in love and happy with people who aren’t their soulmates, so it is Harry’s belief that people should be with whoever they choose, not only who Fate chooses for them. He’s not actively looking for his soulmate, or even anyone to settle down with yet; he’s content to go through life meeting new people who will become his friends, maybe his lovers.

Harry’s not worried about meeting his soulmate either, since everyone knows you don’t meet your soulmate until you’re ready—Harry thinks he probably won’t ever be ready for that. (Unfortunately, Harry doesn’t understand the distinction between getting your soul mark when you’re ready to be with them, which is what actually happens, and ready to meet them. In Harry’s defense, most couples’ soul marks _do_ come in upon meeting their other halves, but still.) Harry and Louis became best mates in their first year of uni in London, their very different personalities winding together seamlessly to create their very own dynamic—it’s the easiest and most intimate friendship Louis’s ever had. Well, it’s become less easy in recent months for Louis; he realized he’s in love with Harry about 9 months ago and has been trying valiantly not to let anyone else catch on. Not only does he know that Harry does not and probably never will feel the same, Louis knows that he and Harry can’t be soulmates—Harry doesn’t want a soulmate at all, for Fate’s sake. Louis, admittedly, has not been putting in much of an effort to get over Harry because he knows that as soon as he meets his soul mate, any non-platonic feelings he has for Harry will go away. Louis is no stranger to unrequited love anyway; he’d even go so far as to say that he _likes_ having those little crushes from time to time.

His feelings for Harry, however, are not as fun as his usual crushes are because he’s not just admiring Harry from afar, he is in Harry—he lives with him, they’re best mates, they know each other intimately and spend a lot of time together. Maybe too much time together. Truthfully, it’s getting more difficult for Louis not to just lean in that little bit further when he and Harry have their weekly staring contest that will decide whose turn it is to clean the toilet. Now, when they’re out with the lads and Harry is chatting someone up at the bar, Louis has to go outside for a cigarette before he goes up and physically drags Harry away.

Around the fifth or sixth timethathappens, Louis decides it’s about time for him to more actively look for his soulmate, because he’s been ready for years and he’s especially ready now. Additionally, he doesn’t know how much longer he can take loving Harry the way he does without exploding. Now that he's decided his course of action, though, the issue is that he’s not really sure how to go about it—how does one find his soulmate, after all, in a world where there are billions of unmatched soulmates and any one of them could be Louis'. Louis enlists the help of one of Harry’s mates, Nick Grimshaw, who has a late night slot on a small-time radio station there in London. Louis begins regretting his decision as soon as he’s on the phone to Nick. It’s not that Louis and Nick don’t get along, per say, it’s just that it’s clear to Louis that Nick has a thing for Harry, and while that is definitely something he can sympathise with, he also knows that Nick and Harry have slept together on _two_ separate occasions. Sometimes Louis lets his jealousy overrule his manners, that’s all. But Louis figures he needs the help more than he needs to hang on to his bitterness if he has any hope of getting over Harry and finding his soulmate, with whom he can live happily ever after.

Nick is hesitant but finally agrees to help Louis on one condition—if Louis tells Harry how he feels about him.

“What the fuck, Grimshaw, the whole point of me asking for your help is to find my soulmate, yeah? And clearly, since Harry isn’t them—“

“Louis… I think Harry _is_ your soulmate.”

Louis gapes at him. “Wh—have you lost your mind? Harry can’t be my soulmate, we don’t have matching marks.”

“How would you know that?” Nick asks pointedly, raising an infuriatingly condescending eyebrow. “Harry doesn’t even have a soul mark.”

“Exactly!” Louis cries, a bit too loudly if Nick’s reacting wince is anything to go by. “And he isn’t going to get one, he’s said so himself on numerous occasions—“

“You know, people can change their minds, Tomlinson. We are all merely human, flawed and—“

“Stop talking,” Louis pleads. “Listen, Grimshaw, do you think I haven’t thought about this? Don’t you think I wish Harry was my soulmate?” Louis looks up at the ceiling of the café, willing himself not to get overemotional or fucking cry about it, for fuck’s sake—they’re in public. “Don’t you think if Harry was my soulmate he’d at least have some feelings for me?”

“Who’s to say he doesn’t?”

“It’s been almost three years since we met. Pretty sure we’d both know by now if we’re supposed to be together forever,” Louis says quietly.

Nick sighs and looks at Louis for a long time before calling over their server to ask for the bill, which he graciously picks up.

“I’ll help you, Tomlinson, but just don’t be disappointed when this doesn’t work because your actual soulmate lives in the same damn flat with you,” Nick warns.

“What makes you think me and Harry are soulmates anyway?” Louis asks outside the café before they each go in a different direction home.

Nick grinning widely, knowingly, says, “Just an impression I got one time,” before he waves at Louis and walks off.

 

Three weeks later, Louis is disheartened because, as much as he loathes to admit, Nick seems to be right—not about Harry being his soulmate, of course, but about Louis being disappointed by the results of Nick’s efforts to spread the word about Louis trying to find his soulmate. Nick’s even said his bosses are getting right pissed about how often he mentions his new friend Louis and how Louis has the words oh, um, yeah, that does make sense on his wrist, and isn’t that such an odd thing for a soul mark to be? Obviously Louis knew from the start that this wouldn’t be easy, but he definitely didn’t think it would be so draining. Each day that goes by that he doesn’t meet his soulmate, the deeper Louis sinks into his funk of unrequited love and acute loneliness. He knows he’s pathetic, nobody has to go on about it. Except Niall, apparently.

“Louis, mate, you’ve been wearing that shirt for three days,” Niall says when Louis opens the door to him on Saturday night. He’s just queued up _Call the Midwife_ on Netflix and is almost looking forward to when Harry comes home and has a strop about Louis starting without him; Louis basically lives for that funny, pinched look Harry gets on his face, complete with some cross between a pout and a scowl, when he’s annoyed.

“Yeah, so?” Louis really doesn’t have the time to have a chat with Niall about his sartorial opinions when Harry could come home at any minute and find Louis—Fate forbid—waiting on Harry to arrive before starting up their programme. “D’you want to come in and watch _Call the Midwife_? Harry should be here soon, and I think he said something about getting a takeaway--“

“No, Louis, you’re not watching _Call the Midwife._ Pity’s sake, it’s a Saturday night, so you’re going out with me, Eoghan, and Laura.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I have no desire to have the three of you drink me under the table at some secret, Irish-only pub—“

“No, no, we won’t be making that mistake again—“

“When I could be having a perfectly nice night in with my favourite TV program me—“

“I thought _Gogglebox_ was your favourite now."

“ _Call the Midwife_ is my favourite, and I won’t have you slandering it!”

It is at this moment that Louis recognizes Harry’s distinct and heavy footfalls on the stairs just to the right of their front door and has to wait only a second before Harry’s curly head appears.

“Haz,” Louis says, “will you please tell our very deprived friend Niall here about the dramatic masterpiece that is _Call the Midwife_?”

Harry smiles beatifically at Louis before squeezing past him and Niall to get through the doorway. “He's right. Coming in, Niall? I’ve brought an Indian,” he says, holding up two takeaway bags.  
Niall finally enters Harry and Louis’ flat, closing the door behind him, before telling Harry, “You can go right on and put that in the fridge because we are all going out tonight.”  
Louis opens his mouth to protest at the same time as Niall says, “Louis, you go get in the shower.”

Harry laughs and does as Niall says, asking, “Where are we going?” just like the easygoing, lovely human being he is.

Louis, on the other hand, tries several times to refuse as Niall pushes him toward the bathroom that he and Harry share, to absolutely no avail.

No more than an hour later, Louis is sat at a round table at some pub near Angel tube station with three mad Irish folk and Harry, nursing the beer that Niall had brought Louis back from the bar.

“Where’s your cute friend at, with the short hair?” Laura asks them. “What’s his name, Leon?”

“Liam,” Harry corrects her with a smile. “Dunno, actually, should call him up and see if he can pop by.” Harry stands, successfully extracts his mobile from the pocket of his stupid-tight jeans and starts walking toward the pub’s entrance, presumably to ring Liam somewhere a bit quieter.

“Are we going to hang here all night, or are we going somewhere else later?” Louis should probably switch to liquor soon if he’s got any hope of getting drunk enough, soon enough, to cope with Harry flirting and dancing with all manner of good-looking strangers if they end up at a club.

Eoghan shakes his head. “No, think we’re gonna stick it out here for a while. Got work in the morning.”

Harry comes back then, informing him that Liam’s on his way.

“Oh good!” Laura looks a bit too excited at the prospect of teasing Liam until he flushes bright red, which is exactly what she’s planning on doing, Louis knows. The only reason she pretends not to know Liam’s name is so she can assure that he’s invited out with them, which gives her the opportunity to make him blush and stammer.

Louis quickly finishes the last of his pint and decides to go to the bar to secure another, asking the table if they need anything as he gets up.

“I’ll go with you,” Harry volunteers, setting one of his big hands on Louis’ back as he guides them toward the bar.

Harry’s just paid for his drink, and Louis is counting out four one-pound coins for his own when someone on his other side says, “I’ve got it.” Louis doesn't move anywhere near fast enough and has to watch helplessly as the bartender take the offered bankcard before he turns to whoever it belongs to.

To Louis' embarrassment, it’s kind of been a while since someone’s offered to pay for his drink, much less a guy as good-looking as this one. Louis can't help but be extremely pleased with himself for attracting someone so fit. He doesn't even care how blatantly he's admiring the guy's fucking cheekbones. “Thank you," Louis says when he finally manages words. "You didn’t have to do that.”

He smiles at him, and Louis guesses what his response will be before he even opens his mouth to reply, “I wanted to." He scoots in a little to tell Louis, in a lower voice, "Hey. I was wondering if you’d like to come outside with me for a smoke?”

Louis debates his options as quickly as he can. It's cold enough to freeze his bits out there, but he could definitely use a cigarette. Louis reckons one can't hurt. “Yeah, that’d be cool.” He glances back at Harry, who’s been standing there the whole time, and sees that Harry looks—what, is Harry actually annoyed that Louis’ got someone’s attention? Fucking prick, like doesn't always have someone hanging off his every word whenever they all go out. Louis sets his attention back on the man who's just bought him a drink, ignoring Harry, and grips dude's wrist to drag him outside.

He offers Louis a cigarette as soon as they're out of the way of the door and lights Louis’ cigarette before lighting his own.

“Thanks again for the drink.” Louis raises the pint glass up slightly.

“Don’t mention it. So I haven’t gotten your name yet,” the guy points out.

“Haven't got yours either, mate," Louis responds, arching one eyebrow--one of the many facially expressive skills he takes pride in possessing. "But it's Louis."

“Zayn,” he says, grinning. “So I see you’ve already got your soul mark.”

While it’s not exactly rude to talk about soul marks with people you’ve just met, Louis is still pretty surprised. No one's really asked about it in a while. “Uh, yeah, I do. Have you got one?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, pulling down the neck of his collar a bit to reveal a very intricate mark. It’s odd, Louis thinks, and then—hold on.

“Sorry,” Louis says, “do you mind if I—“

“Go ahead.” Zayn pulls his shirt down further and yep, no doubt about it, Louis has seen a mark too similar to Zayn’s to be a coincidence. Louis’ seen Liam’s mark often enough to know that the unfinished comic strip inked below Zayn’s collarbone is most definitely the part of the comic strip that must come before the one Liam has on his upper side, right under his armpit.

Louis laughs—partly in delight for Liam, partly in bitterness for himself. Other people make it look so easy-- finding their soulmates. Louis puts down his glass on one of the tables to his left and reaches out to clap both his hands on Zayn’s shoulders. “It's your lucky day, mate. I know your soulmate,” Louis tells Zayn with what must be some kind of manic grin, judging my the look on Zayn’s face.

“ _What?_ ” Zayn asks, dark eyes very wide.

And if Louis was someone who didn't believe in Fate before, he damn well did now because he hears Liam call, “Oh, Lou!” turns to his right to see Liam, waving and smiling that sweet Liam smile as he walks toward Louis and Zayn. _Oh_ , Louis cannot _wait_ for this to happen; he’s never actually seen someone meet their match before. He hears it's quite the rush.

“Liam!” Louis greets, “I’ve got someone here you’re really going to want to meet.”

He hears Zayn choke out some string of words, but it’s hard to tell through the somewhat strangled sound of Zayn’s voice.

“Hi!” Liam says brightly, offering his hand out to Zayn. “I’m Liam.”

“Zayn,” Zayn responds, taking Liam's hand carefully.

“Zayn here is your soulmate, Liam,” Louis offers before patting them both on their shoulder and heading back inside the pub. “You two have fun, but just remember 'no glove, no love,' yeah? Just because you’re soulmates doesn’t mean you can’t give each other an STD!"

“Louis!” Liam gasps, clearly mortified, but Louis just laughs and lets the door shut behind him.

Louis immediately collides with another body as soon as he takes a step into the warmth of the pub, and he knows by the moonflower scent of the shirt the guy he’s just ran into is wearing that it’s Harry (Louis should know, he'd been the last to buy the laundry detergent).

“Sorry, pal,” Louis says as he takes a step back. “If you’re about to go fetch Liam, I wouldn’t. I have just single-handedly matched him to his soulmate,” Louis brag, dusting the figurative dust off his shoulders dramatically.

Louis watches Harry’s eyes track the movements of his hands and then focus on his face. “I saw,” Harry drawls out a moment later, voice low and sardonic. “Well done.” He smirks wickedly at Louis, his eyes flickering up to a point past Louis’ shoulder as he leans down to ask, even lower, in his ear, “Who’d you reckon’ll top the first time?”

Louis barks out a laugh before turning his head to take a look for himself at Harry’s view, Harry’s nose just slightly brushing his neck as he moves. When Louis looks out the window, toward the area that he just vacated, he can see Liam and Zayn, standing close together, their hands clasped together at their sides. They’re literally just holding hands.

Louis whips his head back around to give Harry a disapproving look. “You made me think they were going at it or summat out there,” Louis tells him reproachfully. “You cheapened it!”  
Harry’s smirk returns as he says very dryly, “Well, it’s certainly headed that way. I mean, just look at the way they’re staring longingly into each other’s eyes.”

Louis desperately tries to hide his smile as he shoves past Harry to start walking towards their table. For whatever strange reason—it really could be anything—Harry takes much longer to get back to the table than he should. When he sits down next to Louis and slides a pint in front of him, Louis sees why.

“Thanks?” Louis gives Harry a confused sort of look.

“Um, it’s yours,” Harry answers his unspoken question. “I saw you put it down outside, and then you left it.”

“So you went and got it for me?” Louis asks incredulously.

There’s an awkward pause for half a moment, broken when Harry nods.

“Well, thanks, Haz. Saved me a trip.”

Any remaining awkwardness disappears with Harry’s sudden smile, his eyes lit up with humour as he snorts-- it's possibly the most unattractive of Harry's features, and Louis finds even that part of him cute as fuck. Dammit. “More like saved myself a trip,” Harry mutters, just loud enough for Louis to hear him.

“What?” Louis squawks. Harry only laughs at him, that hilarious, genuine cackle that Louis likes to think only escapes Harry in his presence. “What’s that supposed to mean? Harry!”

“Just that, I knew when you realized it was outside, you’d ask me to go and get it for you anyway,” Harry says, still smiling. “I thought, ‘well, might as well get it while I’m right  
here.’”

“I resent that, Harry!” Louis protests. “I would have gone and got it myself…”

Harry just hums, always so damn agreeable.

 

Louis and Harry get back to the flat around half 1. They stayed with Niall at the pub after Eoghan left to take Laura home, citing that they both had early days. Liam had brought Zayn in at one point to introduce him to the rest of them, and the two of them had a couple drinks with the lot, but they left even before Eoghan and Laura. Harry, Louis, and Niall all leave at the same time, when Harry says that he has to go in to work at noon tomorrow. Louis supposes he could have stayed and kept chatting to Niall a bit longer, but, when they go out together, Harry and Louis usually go home together. As soon as the door to their flat closes behind them, they’re heading to their respective bedrooms, barely sparing a “goodnight” to each other before passing out on their beds. Louis barely has the energy to kick his shoes off, much less wrangle his trousers off while trying not to pick his head up from his pillow, so he doesn't finish. Louis’ phone charger is right by his bed, but he definitely doesn't remember to plug it in before he falls asleep. When Louis wakes up in the morning, head pounding and mouth like a fuzzy blanket, but wearing only his boxers with his phone fully charged on the nightstand, he silently asks Fate to bless Harry before promptly falling back asleep.

 

Next week, Louis is sat on his couch at home watching the football match when he hears Nick Grimshaw shout from the toilet, “Tomlinson! Bring me some toilet roll!”

Louis shouts back, “Sorry! You're asking the wrong person!” Not that there’s anyone else besides Louis in the flat to help him out.

Moments later, Nick comes back out and sits next to Louis on the sofa.

“It was probably you who used the last of it and didn’t replace it,” Nick grumbles as he settles in.

While Nick’s assumption is likely true, Louis still takes offense and proceeds to let Nick know it by whacking him in the face with one of Harry’s cutesy throw pillows. Louis hopes he grabbed the one with the little buttons on.

“Ow,” Nick complains. “Anyway, I thought you invited me over here to talk about your tragic soulmate business.” He pauses before adding, “Or lack thereof, I suppose.”  
Louis rolls his eyes. “We can talk about it after the match is over,” he says, gesturing at the telly with the remote.

Eventually, they do get to brainstorming about other ways to promote Louis’ mission to find his soulmate besides Nick’s radio show, and they’re coming up with jack shite. Every good idea involves something impossible, since they lack both a skywriter and the money to put an advert on the TV. They’ve given up for the time being and are watching some reality show drivel Nick's chosen when Harry opens the front door. He visibly startles a little when he sees Louis and Nick sitting together on the couch.

“Since when do the two of you hang out without me?” Harry asks as he seats himself snugly in the middle of them, ignoring their protests as he gets comfy more or less on top of both of them.

Nick smiles and ruffles Harry’s hair before replying, “Since ol’ Tommo here decided that finding his soulmate was of paramount importance and enlisted my help. I, being the magnanimous creature that I am, accepted the challenge. I’m sure you know all about it.”

Harry turns to Louis with a quizzical expression because, no, Louis guesses he hasn’t really mentioned any of this to Harry yet. It’s not that Louis thinks Harry won’t care, or won’t support him; Harry has made it clear that just because he doesn’t think finding his soulmate is that important, that doesn’t mean that Louis wanting to find his own isn’t important to Harry. It’s just that Louis doesn’t really care for Harry to know just how pitiful and lonely he is or how desperately he wants to find his soulmate all of a sudden. It’s not like Harry would understand anyway, plus it would only invite in questions that Louis doesn’t want to answer.

“No,” Harry says slowly—and trust Harry to stretch out one syllable for damn near ten minutes— with his eyes still entirely focused on Louis. “I don’t know anything about it, actually. Even though apparently it’s of ‘paramount importance.’”

Louis shrugs, uncomfortable under Harry’s inscrutable and unwavering gaze.

He explains, “I didn’t not tell you on purpose, Haz. Grimmy’s exaggerating anyway, aren’t you, Grim?” Louis turns to glare at Nick meaningfully so that Nick will acquiesce without Louis having to drag him back to the bedroom to have a shout at Nick about daring to mention this shit to Harry.

Nick smirks at Louis, which does not at all ease Louis’ apprehensions about what he’s going to say next. But Nick only says, “Sure.” Fuck him.

Louis doesn’t let up his glare, but Nick clearly isn't as terrified as he should be by it because he’s still fucking smiling that horrible, smug smile at Louis. Louis would love to just punch that little smirk off Nick’s face, but he wants to avoid incurring Harry’s wrath even more.

Harry looks suspiciously between them for a few moments before getting up and asking if anyone wants tea or coffee.

“That’s alright, Haz,” Nick declines. “I need to be going anyway, just stopped by for a quick chat.” He stands and starts gathering his things.

Louis turns back to the television and doesn’t bother to see Nick off. Harry does, though, walking Nick to the door and hugging him goodbye.

Nick tells Louis that he’ll text him tomorrow before he leaves, and Louis nods and deigns to wave a few fingers at him in farewell before the door closes behind him.

“So,” Harry says after setting down two mugs on top of the coffee table in front of the sofa. “You and Grimmy are friends now?”

Harry doesn’t look or sound particularly annoyed, but that’s not always saying much with Harry since he's such a passive-aggressive little shit. His carefully blank expression leads Louis to believe he’s not altogether happy having to ask Louis this question at all.

Louis just shrugs as an answer again, obviously not wanting to discuss the matter further and kind of knowing it'll piss Harry off.

“Well?” Harry presses, and Louis bites back his smile at the slight edge to Harry's voice. “Nick’s really helping you find your soulmate? You asked Nick for help?”

Louis shrugs again, but adds, “I figured since he’s on radio that he could, like, get a bigger audience than I could on me own.”

Harry nods, but the furrow in his brow lets Louis know that he’s still not satisfied.

“What’s wrong with you, then?” Louis asks when Harry doesn’t say anything else in lieu of sipping his tea and frowning into his mug.

“Nothing,” Harry immediately answers. He clearly reconsiders, though, because next he says, “I could have helped too, you know.”

The petulant tilt of his mouth has Louis removing Harry’s cup from his hands and placing it carefully on the table before crawling into Harry’s lap to give him a proper cuddle. “Aw, Haz, I know that. I would have asked you if you weren’t so busy,” Louis lies easily. Well, it’s not entirely a lie; Harry is quite busy right now, with being a third year uni student, having a part time job at the bakery down the road, and participating in a number of different uni clubs and organizations. Louis’ only got school and his own part time job at Sainsbury’s to worry about, and he doesn’t care half as much about uni as Harry does, either.

Harry allows Louis’ cuddle and seems to accept Louis’ nonverbal apology for leaving him out. Things are quiet for a bit, except for the noise of the TV in the background, and Louis feels warm and content all nestled up in Harry, his best mate, the boy he loves. Louis thinks this'll be okay for a little while longer.

 

Harry doesn’t mention the whole Louis-looking-ardently-for-his-soulmate-thing for about a week and a half. In that week and a half, Louis's gone on two whole dates with possible soulmates. One of them has a strange phrase on his wrist for a soul mark like Louis, and the other is a girl who hasn’t got her soul mark yet but feels like she knows enough about Louis from his bio on Tindr to reasonably believe they could be soul mates. When Louis asked her, before their date, why she was looking for her soul mate if she wasn’t ready to be with them yet, she said, “I reckon the best way to be ready is to meet them and fall in love with them.” Louis supposes he can't fault her reasoning.

The date with the guy turned out to be a bust since the bloke was a total prick, but the girl, Eleanor, Louis actually likes quite a bit. He doesn’t know if she’s his soul mate, obviously, but he thinks the odds that she is are about as likely as anyone else. So after their successful date, during which they got frozen yogurt and walked along the Thames for over an hour just talking, they exchanged actual numbers and made plans to go out again soon.

Louis is getting ready for their second date when Harry knocks on his bedroom door, opening it once Louis tells him to come in.

“I was wondering—oh,” Harry stops mid-sentence when he sees what Louis is wearing. “Are you going out somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, “I’ve a date with Eleanor.” Louis is looking at himself in the mirror, adjusting his shirt to best show off his collarbones and fussing with the way his black skinnies fit on his calves—he hates when they bunch up at the ankle, damn his short legs. Harry comes up behind him, crowding into his personal space. Not that Louis minds, really. Harry turns Louis around to face him, fixing Louis’ fringe for him and not looking Louis in the eye.

“Haz?” Louis prompts. “What were you going to ask when you came in?”

Harry’s eyes drop down to Louis’ at the question before quickly glancing elsewhere, around the room, at Louis’ bare neck, his own bare feet. “Um, nothing important. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Louis says easily. “Well? How do I look?”

“You look good—great,” Harry tells him, giving him a once over and smiling, though he still isn’t really looking at Louis.

“Y’alright, Haz-bear?”

Harry blinks slowly and finally meets Louis’ eyes. “Yeah. Lou?”

“Hmm?”

“D’you think we could talk tonight? After you get home from your date?” Harry asks, biting his lip and looking away from Louis’ face again. Louis wonders what his deal is today—Harry’s never like this, nervous, almost too quiet. He’s never like this with Louis, at least.

“’Course, babe,” Louis assures him, wrapping his arms around Harry’s shoulders and squeezing once, quickly, before releasing him. “I’ve got to run, now, but I’ll text when I’m on the way home, yeah?” Louis pecks Harry on the cheek, not waiting for an answer before exiting his bedroom, grabbing his keys and wallet from the kitchen counter, and shutting the door quietly behind him.

Louis, for once, actually does remember to text Harry when he boards the train home after another lovely date with Eleanor. They went to a restaurant this time, one that serves French food, a passion for which Louis and Eleanor find they have in common. They split a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc because Louis had actually saved up a bit of money for tonight, and he thinks they had a great time. He and Eleanor parted ways at King’s Cross after another leisurely walk, just enjoying each other’s company, really. Louis hopes that the warm sense of friendship he feels around Eleanor will develop into something more romantic sooner rather than later.

Louis sends off a quick, _Be home in 20 xx_ and receives only a smiley face in reply. Truth be told, Louis is a bit apprehensive for what Harry might want to talk about tonight. Although, they haven’t really seen much of each other recently, so maybe Harry just wants to catch up in front of the telly or something. That’s what Louis’s hoping.  
Harry’s in the kitchen when Louis makes it back, and it seems he’s doing some late night cleaning.

“Hazza,” Louis laughs, clearly surprising Harry by the way he visibly startles at the sound of Louis’ voice. “What on earth are you doing? Scrubbing the countertop at this late hour?” Louis tosses his keys on said countertop and hops up to sit on it, making Harry roll his eyes dramatically.

“How was your date?” Harry asks politely, though he neither looks or sounds like he actually cares what Louis’ answer is, which…

Louis decides to just go for it. “Harry, what’s up with you today? You’re acting well strange.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a while, just continues to wipe down the counter around where Louis’ bum is sat until Louis reaches out and tugs on one of Harry’s curls. Harry gives Louis a small smile at this, but then he sighs, finally putting down the sponge in his hand.

“I just—I feel like,” Harry starts, and then stops, frustrated with himself. “I feel like things are, like, different? Between us. And… I don’t know what’s changed, but I—“ Harry stops again and closes his eyes briefly before focusing back in on Louis. There’s a sort of determined shine to his eyes when he tells Louis, “Actually, I think I do know what’s changed. But you’ll think I’m mad, Lou.”

“Aw, babe,” Louis coos, tucking a curl behind Harry’s ear just to do something with his hands, to distract himself from the panic that’s welling up in his chest like a balloon, “I won’t think you’re mad. Tell me what’s up, and we’ll fix it, whatever it is.” Louis can’t be sure they can, though, if it’s got anything to do with how much Louis loves Harry. Specifically, if Harry can tell that Louis is in love with him, and if that makes Harry uncomfortable.

“I don’t want to tell you,” Harry whispers, his eyes squeezed shut but his face tilting into Louis’ fingers that have been idly playing with Harry’s hair.

“Okay,” Louis whispers back. “That’s okay.”

Usually Louis wouldn't hesitate to force Harry into talking to him, but this time Louis is afraid to hear what’s bothering Harry. He's worried if it’s him or his pesky feelings, worried that Harry won’t want to be his best friend or live with him anymore. Louis knows he’s being stupid—of course Harry wouldn’t stop being his best friend, and he would never make Louis move out. That's not in Harry's nature, anyway, and he wouldn't do it to Louis, he knows. But mostly Louis is worried that Harry will reject him if he makes Louis admit that things have been weird between them because Louis is in love with Harry, and there isn’t anything stupid about that. Not to Louis.

Louis is pulled out of his anxiety by the feeling of Harry exhaling heavily onto Louis’ neck, tuning in to Harry’s words just as they start rushing out. Louis spares a second to find it remarkable that Harry’s speaking so rapidly, but that thought disappears at the exact moment that Louis’s mind catches up to what his ears are hearing. Did Harry just say he’s bloody _jealous_?

“Wait, pause!” Louis demands loudly, rearing his head back to properly look Harry in the eye. “Repeat that, please?”

 _Harry is fucking_ blushing _—what the fuck?_ Louis thinks as he watches Harry dip his head down to hide his face and the hectic red that’s blooming all over it.  
“Lou, please,” Harry begs in just the quietest voice Louis thinks he’s ever heard.

While Louis doesn’t wish to torture Harry, this conversation feels important enough to ignore Harry’s plea. “What do you mean you’re jealous? Of who? Me?”

“No… No, I mean…I just—didn’t really like it when I came home the other day and saw you all cuddled up with Grimmy—“

“ _Excuse me_? I was not _cuddled up_ with Grimshaw, fuck’s sake, Harry—“

“—and you’ve been going on all these dates—“

“I wouldn’t say that _three_ dates counts as ‘all these dates,’ honestly—“

“You nearly pulled at the pub that night, and I—“

“What, are you talking about _Zayn_? Harry, he’s Liam’s fucking soulmate, obviously I wasn’t going to pull him!”

“But you didn’t know that when he bought you a drink and took you outside with him!” Harry all but shouts, shutting Louis up immediately.

Louis says, “I can’t believe this is what’s upsetting you. Fate knows that you’ve no problems getting your own dates, so I find you being jealous of my dating life a bit ridiculous, considering—“

Harry interrupts him with a bitter laugh. “Are you being this thick on purpose?”

Now. If there’s one thing Louis hates, it’s being called “thick” or “stupid” or anything close to it. Harry knows that, and the fact that he’s using it now hurts even more than the sting of the word does.

“No,” Louis says quietly, “guess I’m just this thick naturally.”

Harry seems to realize his mistake immediately, his expression turning into something between apologetic and horrified.

“Lou, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, not at all. You’re not thick, I just—“ Harry takes a deep breath and says, “I just can’t believe you can’t see how much I like you.”

“Obviously I know you like me, Harry, who doesn’t?"

“I’m serious, Louis. I really like you. I want you to date me, not… not Grimmy or Elizabeth—“

“Eleanor,” Louis corrects without thinking. Louis actually isn’t thinking at all, can’t think through the loud ringing in his ears. He’s overcome with a sudden feeling of something like nausea, but better? Louis doesn’t know, he can barely even breathe.

“Louis, I’m trying to—to tell you how I feel, could you please just—“

“Sorry, no, do go on,” Louis squeaks out, heart pounding. He’s sure Harry can hear it loud and bloody clear.

“Where was I?” Harry asks.

“Um, you want to date me?” Louis answers incredulously.

Harry smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “I really don’t want you to date anyone else either.”

“Because you like me? Like in a non-platonic way?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” is the only thing Louis can manage. He can barely believe it. This is—this is only all he’s wanted for, like, forever, can anyone blame him for being a bit skeptical that it’s actually happening? Louis is trying to keep calm and not let the hope and elation crawl through his whole body before he’s sure that this is real, but he’s finding it really difficult at the mo'. Fuck, he’s just so happy.

Harry, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be faring as well as Louis, which Louis only notices when he clicks back into the present and takes stock of the beautiful boy standing in front of him, trembling like a leaf.

“Could you, like, say something please?” Harry’s agonized whisper reaches Louis’ ears at the same time that Louis realizes that he’s waited too long to respond properly. “Besides just ‘oh’?” Harry's biting his lip so hard, it looks like it might tear.

The first thing Louis does is hop down from his seat on the counter to wrap his arms around Harry as firmly as he can. He holds Harry tight, wants him to feel Louis’ affection for him just as well as he hears it, as he speaks into the base of Harry’s neck. “I'm glad you've said that, pal, as I’ve been trying to get over my massive crush on you for ages.”

“Really?” Harry asks, folding Louis in his arms and squeezing him tight once he’s heard Louis’ confession. Louis thinks how it’s strange that they’ve held each other just like this what must be thousands of times before, but somehow this feels better and more. It feels the best. Louis starts to imagine how amazing the sex will be if just a hug makes Louis’ insides feel like they’re going to push out his throat, forming the sounds _I love you so much, want you so much, you’re my whole world, my everything_ —the only words that could even begin to describe the depth of Louis’ emotions but still don’t come close to defining them.

Louis only whispers a “yeah” instead of all the other ones he’s thinking; he doesn’t want to scare Harry off yet, not when he’s just gotten him.

“How long?”

“Hmm?”

“How long’ve you…”

When Louis glances up from the truly fascinating dip of Harry’s neck, he sees that Harry is smiling, finally.

“Ages,” Louis says, purposely vague knowing it will irritate Harry, which it does, judging by the cross between a groan and a whine that Harry emits. Louis laughs at him and tells him honestly, “Well, for a long time, I think, but I only realized it like almost a year ago?”

Harry’s eyes are nearly as wide as the circle his mouth forms at Louis’ answer. Louis laughs again, this time at Harry’s shocked expression, and waits for his response. “What—a year?”

“Almost a year,” Louis corrects, releasing Harry from his arms and hopping back up onto the counter. Harry immediately crowds back into him, though, fitting himself between Louis’ spread thighs, a look on his face like he’s desperate for something, possibly for Louis. The thought sends a thrill straight through him, and he feels the blood start rushing south. Fucking hell, what an inconvenient time to pop a boner.

“Can I—Please, I want to—“ Harry leans in, puts his big hands on Louis’ thighs and squeezes. Louis sends a fervent prayer up to Fate that his body can hold off its natural response to Harry being so close, to his fucking huge hands being too bloody close to Louis' cock.

“Okay,” Louis says, taking Harry's hands sneakily in his as he leans in to kiss his best friend.

Oh, it’s so nice, Louis thinks, the firm press of Harry’s soft mouth against his, feeling Harry’s breath on his face, his eyelashes on his cheek. He can smell Harry’s hair, his skin, and Louis can’t help but laugh a little right into Harry’s mouth when Harry cups his hands around his face because Louis can also smell cleaning supplies, which…

“Stop laughing,” Harry whines. “What could be funny?” He sets his forehead against Louis’ and keeps his eyes closed, beginning to nose his way down Louis’ neck.

“I was just remembering what you were doing when I got home,” Louis explains, grinning like a madman, he’s sure.

“Shut up,” Harry mutters before kissing Louis again.

This kiss goes on uninterrupted for what feels like hours, and Louis is so fucking into it he thinks he’d rather die than stop, overdramatic sap that he is. Unfortunately, that thought propels Louis into a completely new mindset—this one the pretty heartbreaking kind. He remembers that he will have to stop kissing Harry eventually, and when he does, then they’ll have to talk about how Harry isn’t Louis’ soulmate. Louis doesn’t want to—he wants to stay wrapped up in Harry, sinking into him until he can’t distinguish himself from Harry. He wants impossible things, things he knows Harry can’t—and doesn’t want—to give him. Things Harry doesn’t want to give to anyone.

Louis breaks away from Harry then, feeling a bit ill because mere moments ago—or has it been longer?—Louis really thought he was getting it all. His mind begins racing as his breathing quickens, along with his heart rate, and Harry’s asking him what’s wrong, but, fuck he’s trying to think. Can he scrap his dreams of living happily ever after with the one person who’s made for him, for Harry? Give up what he’s been waiting years for to be with Harry, for however long Harry might want him? _And then what?_ Louis asks himself.

Louis doesn’t want to but knows that he has to, if he and Harry have any chance of making it work. They can’t be together when they want two completely different things; they can’t be together if Louis is still waiting on his soulmate. One of them has to change his mind, and Louis thinks it’ll have to be him. He’ll do it for Harry, the boy he’s loved for Fate knows how long, who takes care of him and kisses him like Louis is fucking precious to him, who can make him feel ecstatic and utterly torn apart at the same time. Louis thinks it’s worth it, and now he understands how his mum could have married people she knew weren’t her soulmates. He decides he can’t compare himself to his mum, though, if he wants any peace of mind—can’t think of the messy divorces, his mum’s broken heart, the feeling of completeness and satisfaction she described to Louis when she met her soulmate, how she didn’t know now how she could have ever wanted anyone else.

Louis squeezes his eyes tight, desperately hoping he’s making the right choice, but honestly—who could be better for him than Harry?

“Louis, please! Can you tell me what’s wrong? Did I—what did I do?” Harry’s hands are pressed to Louis’ cheeks, his eyes searching Louis’ and a concerned frown etched upon the lovely, soft lips Louis had just been kissing.

Louis kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth and speaks haltingly, “Nothing, I’m fine. Over thinking, you know. Sorry.” When Louis goes back in for another kiss, though, Harry stops him.

“Lou, what were you thinking about that made you look so sad?” Harry’s thumb touches just underneath Louis’ right eye.

Louis takes a deep breath and readies himself for this talk because he knows it’s going to be a tough one. Well, maybe not for Harry, but it’s probably going to be a shit show for Louis’ poor heart, even if it goes well.

“Harry, I think we should talk about the, um, the soulmate thing?”

Louis can practically see the cogs start whirring inside Harry’s head, and he can almost feel the cloud of anxiety that begins to hover around them.

Harry’s hands fall away from Louis’ face. “Lou, I—I feel like I should tell you—“

“It’s okay, Harry, really. I want to give this a real shot, if that’s what you want, I mean. And, obviously if you don’t want, like, a relationship with me or whatever, that’s fine, I guess, but I can… I can put the soulmate thing away if that’s what it takes. I want to be with you, Harry, I really want—“ Louis’s voice cracks here and he cringes, his hands going to his face, hiding.

“Louis,” comes Harry’s pained whisper, and Louis can hear that he’s closer than Louis thought he was. “Louis, please, don’t.”

Louis doesn’t think he can take much more—he feels as if he’s laid himself bare to Harry here, and all he wants is to cover himself back up until Harry can’t see any of the wild emotions Louis is quite acutely experiencing at the moment.

 _Is this it, then? Am I being rejected by my best mate right now? How did I ever think Harry would—fuck. Fate above, he only said he wanted to date me, not fucking_ marry _me. How could you have got it so wrong?_

“Sorry,” Louis chokes out in a voice that sounds like it went through hell to escape Louis’ throat.

“For what? Oh, why the tears? _Louis_ ,” Harry pleads. “Please look at me.”

And Louis does, out from underneath his messy fringe and saltwater eyelashes, and watches Harry’s face as he tries to find his words. Louis doesn’t even know if he wants to hear them.

“What you said,” Harry starts gravely, “about, like, giving up your soulmate for me. Did you mean that?” Harry, too, starts to tear up a little, his voice and his hands shaking. “Because I—if you change your mind, I don’t know if—“

“I won’t change my mind,” Louis promises.

“How can you know that, Louis?” Harry demands sharply, but his expression begs Louis to assure him, to give him a good reason for Harry to trust him, to say the right answer that will make all their doubts disappear.

 _I love you_ , Louis thinks, but doesn’t say. It probably wouldn’t be enough anyway. Instead, he tells Harry, “I don’t know, Harry, I just… I really can’t imagine wanting anyone else like this.”

“Do you love me?” Harry asks, and Louis can instantly tell he didn’t mean to by his horrified eyes and the near-imperceptible hitch in his breath that Louis wouldn’t have heard if he wasn’t essentially breathing Harry’s air like he is.

It’s the only reason Louis can find the courage to answer him truthfully, simply. “Yes, I do.”

Louis doesn't regret it at all when he sees the sheer relief on Harry’s face. The way his whole body relaxes into Louis’ and envelops him entirely is fucking beautiful, and so is the smile Harry gives Louis once they pull away from their embrace.

An _I love you_ wouldn’t have been enough for Louis if he was in Harry’s position, but if it’s enough for Harry, Louis supposes it doesn’t really matter.

Louis takes Harry’s hands into his own and slots their fingers together, rubbing his thumbs across Harry’s knuckles. It’s quiet for a few moments, a content, comfortable silence that Louis completely ruins by suggesting, “Let’s have sex.”

“Louis!” Harry scolds, laughing.

“What?” Louis says. “I want to consummate my love for you,” he explains teasingly. Louis can’t believe he actually just said that, joking or no.

“Okay,” Harry complies, a positively wicked smile crossing his face as his hands slip from Louis’ and circle around Louis’ waist instead. “Let’s go, then. Bedroom?”

Louis nods and only shrieks a little bit when Harry hoists him up off the counter. Louis obeys when Harry tells him to wrap his legs around him and wriggles around in Harry’s hold until he’s laid on Harry’s bed.

“I wanna blow you,” Louis says as he watches Harry’s lanky body crawl up the bed. “And I want you to hold me down,” he adds, his eyes laser-focused on Harry’s frankly obscene bicep muscles.

Harry groans, fitting himself over Louis and slotting their mouths together with a sigh. Of course, Louis could now write novels on the pleasure he feels just from kissing Harry, but at the minute, he wants less of Harry’s tongue in his mouth and more of his cock instead. Louis gently pries his mouth from Harry’s to tell Harry this as his hands go to the hem of Harry’s T-shirt, pulling it up and over his head before removing his own.

Louis drags his kiss-slick mouth down Harry’s neck and chest, paying proper attention to each of Harry’s four nipples and lightly scratching his nails over Harry’s protruding hip bones before dipping his tongue into Harry’s adorable belly button.

“Louis!” Harry whines, trying to pull Louis back up, probably to kiss him again, but Louis’s on a mission.

“Take off your trousers,” Louis commands, causing Harry to snort. Yet again, it doesn’t make him any less attractive to Louis, to Louis' deep shame. “Pants, too—get ‘em off, babe. Fuck's sake, why are you still wearing socks, Haz?” Louis smiles as he notices. “How you carried me from the kitchen to here without slipping amazes me,” he teases.

Harry doesn’t bother responding, choosing to divest Louis of his own trousers and pants instead. Louis sees Harry’s hand go to wrap around Louis’ newly exposed cock, mostly hard now, but Louis won’t let him steal his thunder. He’s going to give Harry the best blow job he’s ever had, and he’s determined to make Harry come before Louis feels so much as a hand on his own dick. He knows damn well that once he does it’s going to become quite the short encounter.

Louis slaps Harry’s hand away and lies back down on the bed, motioning for Harry to come and kneel over him. Harry looks nervous.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Harry admits, hesitating, although his stupid-massive cock is hard and dripping literally right in front of Louis’ face. Louis reaches up and takes Harry’s hands, places them around Louis’ wrists, saying, “Keep ‘em here, please,” before straining his neck forward so he can take Harry into his mouth.

Harry’s whimper spurs Louis on to take more, to use every single one of his good tricks to make Harry feel as good as he possibly can. Louis puts must of his efforts into using his tongue on Harry—dipping it underneath Harry’s cockhead, which makes Harry stutter out a groan, licking slowly at his slit, which makes Harry fuck himself further back into Louis’ mouth, pushing at the entrance to his throat.

Louis pulls off for a second to tease Harry by placing gentle little kisses around the base of Harry’s dick until Harry begs him to put his mouth back on him. “My mouth _is_ —“

“Louis, _please_.” Harry’s grip around Louis’ wrist tightens almost painfully, and Louis releases a noise he doesn’t ever think he’s heard himself make before.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says, letting go immediately, but Louis growls and says, “No, I like it, I like it, please—“

“Okay, okay,” Harry soothes, taking both of Louis’ wrists into one hand and squeezing before using his other hand to guide his cock back into Louis’ open mouth. “Yes,” Harry hisses out, nudging his hips forward just a little, but he doesn’t stop. “Wanna stay inside that hot little mouth forever,” he breathes out, still inching forward until the tip of his cock touches Louis’ throat. Fuck, this is so hot.

“Ohhhh, Lou,” Harry groans, “feels like—feels so—“

Louis hums around Harry, taking care to suck at what he’s got in his mouth and using his tongue where it can reach. If Louis didn’t know that he’s making Harry feel good by the explicit way in which Harry’s telling him he is, he’d know by the way Harry is struggling to control himself. If Harry is like this just from Louis’ mouth, Louis wants to know what he’s like when he comes, and he sets about finding out right away.

It doesn’t take long for the suction of both Louis’ lips and his throat on Harry’s dick for Harry to start really losing it, and Louis can tell he’s really trying to hold off. Louis doesn’t want him to, so he amplifies his efforts, wanting desperately to see and hear and feel Harry slipping right into his orgasm.

“Lou, I’m gonna…”

Louis hums again, hoping the vibrations will be that edge Harry needs, and he’s right. Louis hears a string of _fuck, fuck, fuck_ in Harry’s deep, rough voice and just about comes himself when he feels Harry’s cock kick, Harry’s hips pushing farther forward as he comes down Louis’ throat.

Louis’ mouth feels sensitive as fuck after Harry slips out, his throat still trying to clench around something that isn’t there. Louis feels fucking brilliant. He made Harry _come_ —he made _Harry_ come. The grin on Louis’ face probably looks wonky and tired, but Harry won’t be able to deny that it’s genuine. “Thanks,” Louis says.

Harry snorts, moving his body so that it overs above Louis’, his arms bracketed around Louis’ head that’s still laying on the bed. “Thank you, Lou. That was… amazing. It was so...” Harry pauses, and Louis can see him struggling to find words so he laughs. “Amazing,” Harry finishes with his own silly grin, tracing a couple of his fingers across Louis’ swollen bottom lip.

“So,” Louis says, the word barely disturbing the heaving breaths Harry and Louis are taking, clearly still a bit winded by Louis’ _amazing_ blow job. “When are you gonna be ready to go again?”

Harry lifts his head up from where he had rested it at the base of Louis’ neck, cranes his own neck to get a peek at Louis’ still hard dick lying pink and wet on Louis’ stomach. Harry starts to reach a hand down, but Louis slaps it away again.

“No, I want you to fuck me,” he tells Harry. “I want to come with you inside me.”

Both of Harry’s hands slap down on the mattress on either side of Louis’ head and he leans down to bite at Louis’ collarbone.

“Ow,” Louis complains.

“That’s what you get for saying stuff like that,” Harry mutters against Louis’ skin. “Can’t take it,” he says.

Louis smiles and cards the fingers of one hand through Harry’s sweaty hair. “Love you,” Louis says, loving that he can, loving that saying it can make Harry look like that.

“I love you, too,” Harry says easily, taking Louis’ mouth with his own, sweetly, gently, until the kiss gets a bit dirtier, until Louis can feel Harry’s cock fattening up near the juncture of his pelvis and thigh.

“Harry,” Louis says against Harry’s mouth, “Harry, open me up.”

“You're so bossy,” Harry whisper-laughs, pulling away just enough to reach his arm toward his bedside table. His gigantic bicep rubs against Louis’ nose as he grabs lube and a condom.

Louis insists on putting the condom on Harry himself while Harry slicks up his fingers.

 _Harry is so creepy_ , Louis thinks, _but in a cute way_ , as he regards the way Harry’s eyes are boring into his as he slips one finger after another into Louis’ tight heat. He hasn’t looked away from Louis for a second.

Louis leans up to kiss him again, can’t help the way his mouth craves Harry’s. Louis’ fingers press themselves into Harry’s arms, feeling the muscles there moving, straining, as Harry works his own fingers in and out of Louis steadily and frustratingly slowly. Louis has tried several times in the past few minutes to move and talk in ways that will make Harry fucking speed up, but Harry seems intent on keeping the agonizing pace he’s set no matter how filthy the things that come out of Louis’ mouth are. Louis decides to try one more time to buck his hips enough to make Harry’s fingers go deeper, faster, and that seems to be Harry’s last straw—he immediately takes the hand that isn’t inside Louis and uses it to shove Louis down on to the bed, holding Louis’ hips down implacably.

“Stay,” he warns in that deliciously low voice.

“Or what?” Louis asks, breathless, but he stays still.

Harry grins and says, “Who knows?” He slips his fingers out of Louis’ hole then, wiping them on the already wet rim and leaning his head down to whisper into Louis’ ear as he lines his cock up, “After I’m done fucking your brains out, I’m gonna put my mouth on you, eat you out until you fucking cry and—“

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis cries out as he feels Harry’s big dick filling him up. Bloody fucking Fate, it feels like literally nothing else; it feels like everything.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Harry says quietly, voice strained and teeth clenched. “Oh, baby, you feel so good. Lou,” he breathes.

Harry quickly establishes a rhythm, barely giving Louis any time to adjust to the feeling of being fucking carved out by Harry’s lovely, magical cock. Louis supposes he doesn’t need time to adjust, though, just needs Harry to get on with it and fuck him like he's promised to.

The noises Louis is making are probably embarrassing, but Louis isn’t thinking about that right now. In fact, the only words that are in his head have to do with Harry—Harry’s hot skin sliding against Louis’, his long, elegant fingers wrapped tightly around Louis’ wrists again—Fate, Louis does love that—Harry’s breath in his ear, his hair brushing against Louis’ neck, Harry’s voice, telling him the sweetest things, the dirtiest things. Harry telling Louis he loves him.

It’s the best sex Louis has ever had, and he never wants it to end.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Harry says, his thrusts speeding up as he edges closer to coming. “I can’t believe—“

“Me too,” Louis says urgently, “me too, me too, me too.”

“I love you so much, Louis.” Harry’s hips stutter as he tries to slow down. He’s obviously trying his best to make it last, but—

“I’m gonna come, Harry, I’m—“

“Fuck,” Harry says, “yeah, come on, Louis. Come, baby, I want you to.” Harry gives up on trying to slow down then, now that he knows Louis is close, fucking him quickly but deeply, aiming for Louis’ prostate as Louis’ hole clenches around him. “I wanna see it, Lou, come on,” Harry pleads, leaning down to kiss Louis’ mouth, Louis’ cheeks, his rapidly fluttering eyelids.

It doesn’t take much longer of all that for Louis to come, his head going fuzzy and his limbs going numb as his orgasm shatters through his mind and body. He feels weightless, but he’s not scared because he can still feel Harry holding him down, can still feel Harry’s hips slamming into him, faster now. Louis can barely feel anything, but he can still feel when Harry comes, his cock swelling inside of Louis slightly as his rim clenches around the base of Harry’s cock.

“Ohhh,” Harry groans, stilling around and inside of Louis, collapsing on him before immediately rolling them both over so that Louis is resting on top of Harry.

“Don’t say ‘thanks,’” Harry warns Louis as he gently skims his hands down Louis’ sweaty back.

“Thanks,” Louis says, trailing his hand from where it’s lying on Harry’s stomach up to a nipple, twisting it so that Harry howls and bites at Louis’ ear. Louis rears up in response and tries to move up and away from Harry, which leads to quite the struggle.

Louis, giggling, moves his fingers to tickle underneath Harry’s armpits, making Harry bark out a harsh laugh, like Louis knew he would. Harry kicks up his legs so high that Louis notices that he’s still got his socks on straightaway.

“Harry!” Louis exclaims through his wild laughter at Harry tickling his sides. “Your socks are still on!”

“Oh,” Harry says, mouth opening comically. “My bad.” He reaches down to pull both his socks off, tossing them across the room; they don’t quite make it into Harry’s laundry basket, but it was still a good shot.

“Close but no cigar,” Louis teases.

Harry curls his legs up so that he can rest his chin on his own knees and stares at Louis, smiling lazily.

Louis brings his eyes from Harry’s face down Harry’s body, imagining how it might have looked on top of Louis’ as Harry fucked him just moments ago. Louis can still barely believe that it even happened, and he still thinks he’s going to want to go again soon. Louis pauses, though, when his gaze lands on Harry’s recently exposed feet.

“Harry, d’you get a new tattoo without telling me?” he asks, pouting and pointing to some ink on Harry’s ankle that he hasn’t ever seen before.

“No?” Harry says, confused. He takes his eyes from Louis to glance down at where Louis’ pointing, stretching a leg out to get a better look.

Louis peers down at the words marked on Harry’s ankle and he lets out something like a sob when his brain processes what his eyes are seeing.

_FYI, Louis is your soulmate_

“Oh,” is all Harry says for a second, then he follows it up, extremely slowly, with “um, yeah, that does make sense.” He seems absolutely dazed, like he doesn’t even know what’s going on, much less the words coming out of his mouth. Louis' own head feels fuzzy, just hearing the words he's been waiting so long to understand the meaning of.

That’s how Louis knows it’s real. Harry doesn’t even know what he’s saying, but those are the exact words inked on his wrist, the exact words of his fucking soul mark. And Harry’s soul mark—fuck, Harry has a soul mark. And it says Louis’ name.

“Is this real,” Louis demands. “Is this a joke? Harry!” Louis snaps when Harry doesn’t respond, his eyes still firmly locked on his own ankle. “Did Grimshaw write that on your ankle? Harry.”

“No,” Harry whispers. “But he said it to me. He’s said it a hundred times. I didn’t—“

It feels like Louis’ whole world closes down into the one thought he has right then, when he remembers that Harry doesn’t really believe in the whole soulmate thing. _Maybe Harry doesn’t want this._

“Harry, I—I’m so sorry. I know, this isn’t, like, what you want, but—“

“Louis,” Harry interrupts. “I’m so happy. I just wish my soul mark didn’t make me feel like such a bloody idiot.” He shrugs, though, smiling through it, as if it doesn’t really bother him at all.

“But,” Louis starts, “you don’t want a soulmate, I thought?”

Harry shakes his head. “Well, yeah, but that was before I knew it was you. And, like, I still don’t think you need a soulmate to be happy—“ Here, Harry motions for Louis to keep quiet when it looks like he’s about to protest “—but I love you, and you make me happier than anything.”

Louis laughs. “Awww, thanks, Haz, how sweet.”

Harry shoves at Louis but then wraps him up immediately in his arms, forcing Louis into Harry’s lap. They sit like that, their hearts thrumming and bodies relaxing into one another as the new realization that they’re soulmates sinks in. Louis would say that he feels a change—a shift in their dynamic, in the way they look at each other, something different than before he knew—but truthfully, he doesn’t. And that makes sense in its own way, like their connection will always be the way it’s been all along, since the moment they met and every moment thereafter. Louis finds that comforting—he’s found his life partner, the one person who matches him exactly right, who will love him forever. Louis feels like crying in relief, but instead he laughs.

“What?” Harry says, and Louis can feel him smiling into his shoulder.

“Just thinking that I was going to stop looking for my soulmate so that I could be with you, but it was you this whole time.”

“I’m so happy, but I feel awful for being happy. I feel like I’ve made us waste so much time,” Harry admits quietly, face still hidden.

“Hey, hey, Haz.” Louis presses his hands to Harry’s cheeks, tilting his face up to kiss Harry full on the mouth. When he pulls away, Louis sees that Harry’s eyes are closed, so he uses his thumbs and forefingers to open his eyelids up. Harry scowls but keeps them open. Louis knows that Harry wants to hear that he hasn’t fucked up, and Louis wants to tell him. “We haven’t wasted any time at all, babe. We’ve been together all his time, just in a different way. We’ve always been soulmates, you know. And it’s not like I ever thought it would actually be you, either,” Louis points out. He tucks that one unruly curl behind Harry’s ear, Harry’s eyes looking up at him with the most wondrous, loving gaze. It humbles Louis. “I wished it would be you,” Louis says, painfully honest.

“Stop being so soppy, you’ll make me cry,” Harry warns, and he means it. His eyes are already welling up.

“Yeah, don’t get used to it,” Louis lies. He’ll probably be saying the most grotesque, lovey-dovey shite to Harry until he dies.

“I won’t,” Harry promises, though he probably knows Louis is lying too.

“Good,” Louis says, and that’s that.

 

Louis just so happens to be lying next to Harry in the bed when Nick Grimshaw rings Harry what must be hours later, after two more rounds of extroadinary, vigorous soulmate sex separated by a three hour nap. When Harry’s phone starts ringing, Louis first looks at the alarm clock on Harry’s bedside table and sees that it’s damn near six o’clock in the morning. Louis immediately flips back onto his stomach to smash his face into his pillow.

“Who the fuck is calling you so fucking early?” Louis groans, and Harry can’t probably hear exactly what he’s just said, but he likely gets the gist.

“Sorry,” Harry says, trying to reach for his mobile without opening his eyes or turning toward the ringing at all.

“Fuck’s sake,” Louis mutters, climbing over Harry to get at the phone. He answers it with a growling “What?”

"Oh my," Grimshaw says from down the line, "Someone's grouchy. Didn't get enough sleep, pet?"

“Shove it, Grimshaw. Here's Harry.” Louis shoves Harry’s mobile right into the space between Harry’s ear and shoulder and curls back up into Harry’s arms.

Harry doesn’t miss a beat, wrapping one arm around Louis at the same time as he greets Grimshaw. “Hiii, Nick, y’alright?” There’s a pause on Harry’s end as Grimshaw, presumably, asks if Harry’s got anything on this Saturday night, judging by Harry’s response of “No, I’m not busy Saturday, but can I bring Louis? Ummm yeah, he’s in the bed with me. No, we had a very adult sleepover, Grim, if you insist on knowing. Actually, I fucked him tw—“

“Harold,” Louis hisses, trying to slap the phone away from Harry to no avail as Harry just laughs at him, dodging his swatting hand effortlessly, even while lying down. Louis supposes he isn’t really putting that much effort in anyway. “Anyway, thought you might like to know you were right,” Harry say much more quietly and with no trace of the joking tone he’d been using before. “Louis is my soulmate.”

He’s looking at Louis now, smiling a little. He reaches oner out to smooth over Louis’ eyebrow, traces it down to his temple and cups Louis’ cheek in his hand. “Love you,” Harry mouths as he listens to whatever smug answer Grimshaw’s giving him. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I've just admitted it, haven't I?” Harry says good-naturedly. “But I’ve got to go now, yeah? Speak to you later, bye.”

Harry hangs up and tosses his phone back onto the table before rolling on top of Louis, elbows resting on either side of Louis’ shoulders and his face mere inches from Louis’.

"Can I kiss you?" Harry asks in a whisper.

“After you brush your teeth,” Louis says, but he’s joking. He leans up to meet Harry’s mouth with his own, and he truly doesn’t mind Harry’s terrible morning breath. “Hey, pal," Louis whispers once they've pulled away, "I love you, too, by the way."

“Good,” Harry says, and that’s that.


End file.
